


Sickness

by Cirilla Godefroy (Cumbersnatched)



Series: The Vampire of Kaer Morhen [4]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Dettlaff - Freeform, Developing Friendships, Eskel - Freeform, Family, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Head Bump, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Sickness, Witcher - Freeform, geralt - Freeform, sick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-27 01:49:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21110720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cumbersnatched/pseuds/Cirilla%20Godefroy
Summary: The worst thing that couldeverhappen to a young trainee at Kaer Morhen happens to Geralt--He gotsick.For a second time!. Paranoid, stressed out and irritable, he recuses himself from everyone, then ultimately decides to visit his only other friend at the keep while he attempts to get better.





	Sickness

**Author's Note:**

> PG13 Warning for very mild language.

Geralt’s eyes darted around the mess hall as he shoveled food into his mouth, searching—fearing that someone may recognize his weakness. The boys of his cohort didn’t notice, too busy scarfing down their meager meal to mind or take note of his attention. He was paranoid though, and rightfully so. His head throbbed, his throat was sore, his nose was running and burned—not to mention his entire body felt like one giant bruise!...

…He was afraid someone was going to notice and point out his weakness in front of _everyone._

Geralt shoveled faster despite the way his stomach clenched and tightened in on itself. Eskel, who sat so close their legs brushed, nudged him with his knee as he sped up to keep pace with Geralt. ‘_What’s the deal?’ t_he nudge said, ‘_you okay?’_

He was still stuffing his face, not bothering to answer. They were always together now, practicing, sparring and sometimes Geralt even studied with him—so of course he could tell something was wrong. The question would have to wait though, there was no wasting food at Kaer Morhen, as their meals were small and long in coming.

When he finally finished, he stood, quelled his trembling legs and stepped over the bench he’d been sitting on. Weighed down by the twisting ball in the pit of his stomach, he carefully made his way to the mess area to deposit his dirty tray and thanked the Gods he wasn’t on kitchen duty that night. Calm as possible despite his cramping stomach and mind numbing headache, he abandoned his tray to the growing pile and fled the room.

Eskel followed suit soon after, and called out to him as he ran outside having craved the crisp night air and the snowcapped mountains that surrounded Kaer Morhen.

“Geralt!”

His friend’s voice was full of concern, but he didn’t stop until he was at the top of the staircase leading into the courtyard. He lent heavily on the stone newel, trying so hard to school his body as his friend Eskel caught up. The feel of the cold stone beneath his hands was both grounding and blissful against his feverish skin.

“Geralt, you okay?” Eskel asked with worry in his voice as he laid a careful hand on his shoulder.

He immediately shrugged Eskel off, probably more harshly than he intended as he snapped at him. “Don’t touch me! Just…stay away.” Geralt backed off a few feet from Eskel, his eyes narrowing with a glare. “I…don’t want you get catch what I got.”

Getting sick was one of the worst things to happen at Kaer Morhen—especially if it was just a simple every day cold or stomach illness. The cohort would never let him live it down—just like the last time.

As Eskel looked at him and then back at his hand in shock—almost like he wanted to run to the washroom—Geralt took the opportunity to back away, much further away, to a far wall, shrouded by shadow. He leaned his shoulder against it and pressed the side of his damp forehead into the stone. It was delightfully cold, and his headache ebbed to a dull throb.

“You should go see the healer,” Eskel said lowly as he approached again, careful to keep space between them this time.

Geralt shook his head, not having it. “Ha…yeah no. I remember what happened the last time I caved into that, thanks _so_ much by the way!” He glowered at Eskel for real this time, though the effect was ruined as he wiped the back of his arm across his face. Stupid nose.

“Not gona subject myself to their poison again. Not going to happen! I felt worse than when I had gotten there!” Not to mention he’d been bed ridden for two whole weeks! They’d forced him to drink some ghastly puke green concoction that had him going out of both ends! And when he finally got out of what passed for their ‘infirmary’ he’d felt weaker than he had when he’d originally got there!

He nearly doubled over and instead wrapped an arm around his clenching stomach. Gods…the thought of that awful concoction was enough to send him heaving—almost.

Worst part was, his cohort had noticed, he’d fallen behind in training and he was shuffled to the tail end of their ‘pecking order.’ That meant last in line at meal time, first to be volunteered for the crummy chores _and _extra chores! He’d not had any time off or to himself at all! And it had taken nearly _three months_ for him to earn his original spot and their respect back—whatever the latter amounted to, who knew? He didn’t really care—all he cared about was keeping up with Eskel. Going to the infirmary would be a huge set back!

Especially when he was currently second rank, just under Eskel.

Eskel looked at him with large brown, pleading eyes. “Geralt…this could be _serious. _You _have to!_”

Pffft…those puppy dog eyes might work on the masters—probably because he was their favorite student—but it wouldn’t work on him…not this time…

“Just consider it another _Trial,_ Eskel. I’ll be fine.” He offered his buddy a lopsided grin that quickly turned into a grimace as his stomach cramped in protest of the food he’d scarfed down _way too quickly._ The arm wrapped around his stomach clutched tighter as he willed the cramp to go away.

Eskel opened his mouth to protest and Geralt cut him off by slicing his hand through the air in front of him irritably. “_NO_, I am not going! Now—just…go! I’ll be up later.” He sounded pained, though impatience was there too. Tons of it.

Several different emotions flickered across his friends face before settling on one—one of grim determination.

Geralt exhaled loudly and closed his eyes, focusing himself as the masters were trying to teach them. _Patience._

“You’re going to get me sick if you don’t go,” Eskel commented resolutely as he stepped forward several feet—much too close for Geralt’s comfort.

“Gods damn it Eskel—“ he cursed, flicking his eyes back open with a glare. “_Fuck off. _This is my decision. You can’t force me.”

Eskel flinched but silently pressed forward, his lips a thin line—and now within Geralt’s reach. Gods he was tempted to punch him.

“I’ll puke on you, asshole. Now GET!” Geralt hissed, face crimson both from frustration and from the twisting pit in his stomach that couldn’t decide which way it wanted to go—up or down, in or out.

His friend frowned then, a picture of genuine…concern?—empathy?—whether at his threat or the sickly pallor of his skin—he didn’t know. Eskel didn’t slow however, he just continued until he was right up in Geralt’s personal space.

”_Please_,” Geralt begged—whined as he closed his eyes again, willing Eskel away. Why couldn’t Esk just let him be miserable, let him be alone for once? It wouldn’t kill him—

“Can’t let you do this alone bud,” Eskel muttered, barely a whisper as he bumped his forehead against Geralt’s.

Automatically his hands came up to grasp at Eskel’s shirt, his first thought and urge being to shove him—make him so mad he just _went away_. Something stalled him though, something deep inside that just _clicked_. The feeling just seemed so _right, _smoothing even the prickliest of words and urges away.

Too bad it didn’t soothe his sour stomach too.

Reluctantly, Geralt pressed back and let out an exasperated sigh. “Geeze why are you such a pain?” He grumbled as he felt defeat weighing in on him as heavily as the ball in his stomach.

“Cause you’re my friend.” Eskel murmured, pleading as his hand latched onto his upper arm, giving it a firm squeeze to show his support. Geralt opened his eyes and stared into dark brown eyes that shined on him hopefully.

“Yeah?” Geralt asked ruefully, kinda feeling bad now for being so mean and snapping at Eskel—and even more so because there was one favor he could probably use to get him out of seeing the healer still.

Eskel blinked at him and scowled. “Of course. My best friend.”

Dang it. Now he felt _horrible._

“Well…don’t friends say or do nice things for each other on their name days?” Geralt asked tentatively with a wince as the cramp in his stomach decisively moved down. Instant karma at its best.

He hadn’t thought it was possible for Eskel’s eyes to grow as huge as they did but somehow they managed it.

“_I freaking forgot,” _Eskel blanched as he fell back against the wall alongside Geralt.

“It’s not a big deal, really.” Eskel didn’t have to do anything for him except say ‘happy name day’, but even then, it didn’t matter. It was just another day, except now he could use it to maybe get Eskel off his back…

“Anyway…I’m…going to go visit Dettlaff.” He worried his lip and looked away, not wanting nor willing to put up with Eskel’s irritating scowl or questioning gaze which was the usual reaction when Geralt mentioned the vampire. Eskel didn’t know the vampire like he did, hadn’t even tried to get to know him…

“Can I come too?”

Geralt’s head shot up, making his head throb painfully, and his eyes widened in surprise at the question. That was _not_ what he’d been expecting. Warmth flooded through his chest as he floundered for words.

“Uhh..yeah!.......I’d like that, and I’m sure he’d love to meet you!...But…” He was _sick_. The whole point of him going to see Dettlaff was that Dett couldn’t get sick, while Eskel _could_—probably _would_ at this rate.

“…you probably should stay in your room, away from me. But some other time?” He really wanted for Esk to meet Dettlaff. The vampire would probably enjoy having a another friend…

Eskel sighed and hung his head dejectedly—defeated. “Yeah…After your better. I wanna meet him.” Geralt didn’t even have to try suppressing a grin. “You’ll come back tonight?”

Geralt let out a weak chuckle, though it tapered off fairly quickly as his stomach twisted into its most painful cramp yet. “Yeah…maybe. Unless he gets hungry.”

Eskel didn’t seem all that reassured.

“_Please_…just go Esk…” Geralt begged again as he pushed off the wall, shivering with cold now and the weird hot flash rippling through his body from the stomach pain. “I really don’t wanna get you sick okay? Go wash up. If I come back…great, but I think it would be better if I didn’t.” Eskel had put himself at risk too much already. No way was he going to sleep in the same room with him! He’d sleep in the mess hall before he did that…

“Okay…well. I hope you feel better Geralt…really. If you don’t in a few days though, I’m getting the healer whether you like it or not…” Eskel offered him a weak smile and pushed off the wall too.

Geralt nodded, knowing his friend was deadly serious. Hopefully he’d be better by then.

“See you,” Eskel said before reluctantly running off back to the keep. Geralt watched as he darted around the corner and listened as his soft foot falls faded into the castle.

Sighing, he slowly made his way after him to wash up. Eskel could be a pain sometimes, but he was definitely glad to have such a good friend. He really hoped Eskel wouldn’t get sick because of this…

~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Hunched over his workspace, Dettlaff let out a growl as his grip on a hair thin wire slipped once again. He was attempting to fix a small music box that a wintering wolf had left with him early that year. The tiny thing had been collecting dust as it waited for him, sitting high up on a shelf nearly forgotten. It was the change of seasons, and the wolves would soon be returning. He hadn’t felt inclined to fix it until now, much preferring the smiles and wide eyes of the children he randomly bestowed his gifts upon. But the clock on this particular piece was ticking, and he was nothing if not dutiful, especially since the witcher in question had insisted on paying him.

He’d just managed to grab the tiny wire with the tips of his claws again when the door to his chamber creaked open. Drawing back his lip, he inhaled and scented who the visitor might be.

Sweat, dirt, soiled clothes—and _sick_—overwhelmed his scent glands, along with the unmistakable and unique scent that belonged to the young wolf, Geralt. Warmth filled his chest, as it always did when he visited, yet his brow furrowed in worry. The sickly scent wouldn’t do, not at _all_.

Carefully setting the wire in a place where it wouldn’t get lost, he swiveled around in his chair to greet young Geralt with a frown.

Geralt froze upon seeing his expression. “Not a good time? I can come back…”

Standing, Dettlaff cautiously approached the young boy and slowly knelt before him. “No…stay…” he mumbled under his breath, very much distracted as his hands rose in the air, floating—stalling the boy from moving as he closed his eyes. He pulled his lip back again, much as he’d done moments before and inhaled deeply, both through his nose and his mouth, scenting him—feeling, almost _seeing_ how the temperature radiated and pulsed off the boy’s body in thick waves. He was amazed—and worried—by how intense it was.

Dettlaff scowled as the need to protect and care for the young boy nearly overwhelmed him and he dropped his hands. “Please, go sit on my bed. I’ll be with you in a moment.” Opening his eyes, he stood and caught a flicker of surprise from Geralt as he turned away, yet was relieved when the boy obeyed, which allowed him to focus on his task.

Quickly, he set an obviously very well loved kettle down on small grate, hot from the coals in the hearth, and filled it with water. Then he hurried over to a low cabinet in the corner and went through the drawers, pulling out several items he’d need to make tea to break the fever. Myrtle petals, lemon, honey, pepper vodka, a bit of cinnamon—He parsed the petals, cut the lemon in half and broke the cinnamon stick in small pieces, then sealed them inside a fine mesh pouch. By the time he’d done so, the ketal was boiling, which he took off the coals and set on the stone nearby.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the young boy watching him attentively, only stopping on occasion to draw his arm across his nose and looking absolutely miserable. “You know, the whole reason I came here was so I wouldn’t be fussed over. I’m not a child.”

His blue eyes softened as he gently chided Geralt while he added the various ingredients to the ketal. “Yes, you are a child. Physically, your body screams ‘youth’ and ‘innocence,’ however I have yet to treat you as such…have I?”

Geralt mumbled a ‘_right now you are_’ which his keen hearing easily picked up.

“Nonsense. I am treating you as I would any dear friend of mine or member of my pack. We care for each other. Do not confuse caring with condescension or ‘fussing’. Besides, you may have the body of a child yet you’ve shown more maturity than some adults I’ve crossed paths with.” Though that may be in part to the boy’s naivety and the reclusive culture of Kaer Morhen. He hadn’t been exposed in full to the harsh reality of the real world. Unfortunately, It would all come in due time. Until then, he’d enjoy the boys company and encourage him to be as neutral and open minded as possible—in much the same way the masters schooled them to be.

Dettlaff pulled a blanket out of a nearby trunk and wrapped it tightly around Geralt’s shoulders. The boy’s brow glistened with sweat in the firelight, and his poor nose was raw and red. After making sure the boy was comfortable, he rummaged through another drawer and pulled out a soft cloth made out of the finest cotton. He handed it to the young boy without hesitation.

Geralt took it from him automatically and his eyes widened at the quality. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice tumultuous.

“Yes, think nothing of it. I have something for your nose as well.” Dettlaff started rummaging through his medicine cabinet in search of a stomach settling concoction and a salve to help open up his airways. He liked to keep various remedies on hand, just in case any wolf or pup needed them. He also pulled out a tiny white jar, which he immediately handed to Geralt.

“Aloe vera gel. It’s derived from a fairly common succulent type plant, where I’m from. It’ll soothe the burn of your nose,” he explained as he placed the other jar and vial on the nightstand. Then he pulled two cups from another cupboard nearby and carefully filled them with the tea which had been steeping. Tentatively, he added just barely one extra shot of pepper vodka to Geralt’s cup and placed them on the nightstand to cool. Hopefully it would help warm him from the inside and break the fever, and sleep better besides.

“What’s a pack?” Geralt asked randomly as he applied the soothing gel to his nose.

“_That_ young wolf, is a question for another time,” his voice came out stern, though his lips turned up in a soft smile at the young boys inquisitive question.

“_Now_ you’re treating me like a child,” Geralt quipped, eliciting a chuckle from Dettlaff.

Finally, he settled on the bed next to Geralt, and looked over at him very seriously. “Okay, Geralt, if you insist. I will not be called a hypocrite.” The young wolf looked excited, and much more interested in learning what a pack was than healing his weakened body. It was kind of endearing, and warming, how Geralt wanted to learn about him and his culture.

It would cost him though. He didn’t give out that kind of information so easily.

“I will tell you, but first you must take this potion.” With a quirk of his lip, he held up a small vial of grey liquid for Geralt to see who was now bundled quite warmly inside the woolen blanket. “It may look garish, but I promise you it will help settle your stomach and help with your fever.” He held it out in front of Geralt expectantly.

“I have to drink that whole thing?” Geralt asked with a groan of disbelief. The young wolfs skin took on a sickly grey pallor that matched the color of the potion.

“It looks much worse than it actually tastes, I promise. Trust me,” he consoled as he uncorked the vial and held it out to the boy.

Geralt looked between him and the vial dubiously, then let out a heavy sigh. “If I end up in the infirmary because of this I’ll never come back here again,” he threatened with a glare and took the vial from Dettlaff.

Dettlaff smothered a smirk and watched as the boy hesitated, then abruptly gathered his courage and downed the vial. He watched as every last drop went down before he finally took the vial away.

The expression on Geralt’s face was priceless. It was amusing, seeing him go from a grimace to one of intense surprise.

“See.”

“Wow. That wasn’t bad at all!” Geralt licked his lips, obviously puzzling over the flavor of vanilla, mint, and the subtle combined texture of honey, water and charcoal.

“Okay…now tell me. What’s a pack?”

Persistent whelpling.

Dettlaff pursed his lips as he considered how to start, and subtly bought time as he handed young Geralt a steaming mug of tea. “Drink first. It’ll clear up your nose, help with your fever and probably help you sleep too.”

Geralt took the mug from Dettlaff and held it close, breathing in its steam and absorbing its warmth. After a moment, he took a sip of the warm tea and closed his eyes as the warm liquid went down, pleasantly burning him from the inside—such is the result of pepper vodka. With the myrtle petals, lemon and sweet honey, he was sure the boys nose would clear up in but a few hours.

“So…pack…” Dettlaff settled back against the pillows and headboard and gazed into the hearth as he thought about how to approach this conversation. He had to be careful how he worded this so it would be both understandable, not give too much away, nor give the child the wrong idea.

He took a sip of his own tea and mulled over the flavor and organized his thoughts for a few more moments before he spoke.

“We vampires generally live in social warrens, though on occasion we will seek out solitude. For the most part, vampires within a warren are all part of the same tribe, meaning they’re tied together through an invisible bond. The bond is something we can use to call for aid in times of great need.

Within the warren are families, who are connected by familial bonds via blood ties. They’re much stronger than tribal bonds and you can communicate feelings to each other—for example if you were my brother or child, I could feel your discomfort from your sickness.”

Geralt peered at him over the lip of his mug. “You seemed to figure it out just fine though?”

“I can smell your sickness, and I can see it. Didn’t need a bond to tell me that. As you learn young wolf, about the various monsters in the world, remember, many of them have a sense of smell keener than yours may ever be, and abilities to sense weakness you wouldn’t be able to comprehend yet.”

“Especially right now. I’m all plugged up,” Geralt said, sounding miserable as he all but stuck his face in his cup.

Dettlaff looked on at the boy fondly and resisted the urge to run his clawed fingers through his hair. He’d feel better soon, hopefully.

“When I mentioned that I considered you a friend, close enough to be part of my pack…well. Pack bonds are very similar to family bonds, but they’re created. Members of a pack bond can vaguely sense each other’s locations and peaked emotions, as well as directly communicate low lying emotions.”

Geralt lowered the cup to his lap, and Dettlaff was glad to see it was half empty. “So I’m a member of your pack?”

Dettlaff smiled and gave into the urge, running his fingers affectionately over the child’s forehead and through his hair. His skin was clammy with sweat, a good sign. Hopefully his fever would break by the morning.

“Unofficially, young wolf.”

“How do we make it official?” The boy’s brows arched up in question as he brought the cup up to sip on.

Such an innocent question, with such a loaded answer…

“I dare say I’ve answered enough of your questions for tonight, Geralt.”

“But…” the cup lowered quite abruptly as Geralt looked over at him with huge, wounded eyes. “I want to know! You’re my only other friend here Dettlaff…” Geralt was borderline whining at him now, and the vampire suppressed a fanged grin, though he felt a deep pang of empathy for the child.

“Drink your tea, whelp,” he commanded, though playfully.

“Now _that_ was condescending,” Geralt pointed out as he hid a grin behind the cup.

“Then don’t _pry_ young wolf,” Dettlaff chided as he grinned fully behind his own cup of tea.

“Then don’t temp my curiosity, _vampire_,” the pup quipped back at him.

“Uh huh. You sound like you’re feeling better—shall I send you to your room?” He raised his eye brows in turn, semiserious yet teasing all the same.

Geralt blanched. “No!...Please let me stay? I don’t wanna get Eskel sick…”

Dettlaff’s heart tugged at how earnest the boy sounded, and silently commended his ability to look out for his friends. Compassion was rare this day and age, and Dettlaff hoped that ability was innate, and would stay with him as he aged. It was very endearing.

“Fine…you may stay,” Dettlaff feigned annoyance but young Geralt saw right through it and grinned.

“I have some work to do, so feel free to get comfortable. But before you fall asleep, use this.” He picked up the small jar he’d placed on the nightstand earlier and uncapped it. Inside was a clear ointment that smelt of mint, chamomile, cannabis and a hint of beggartick.

“Smooth a little of this over your chest before you sleep. It will help open your air ways, so you can breathe easier, it’ll relax you, sooth your headache, and ease any muscle ache you may have in the area it’s applied to.” He placed the jar back on the nightstand and capped it before he slipped his way off the bed.

“You mean I can have it?” Geralt asked him, dumbfounded.

“Of course young wolf. I will just make more. Use it sparingly.” He placed his cup of tea on his work station and sat back down, eager to get back to it.

“Thanks Detty,” Geralt mumbled up at him from behind his cup. The child’s eyes had taken on a tired glaze, and he wasn’t sniffling as often as he had been. That was good.

“My pleasure, young wolf. Get some rest.” Dettlaff murmured sincerely before focusing back on his original task of fixing that infernal music box with the silly hair thin wire.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Eskel stared up at the top bunk and sighed grumpily. It was nearly midnight and Geralt hadn’t returned. Geralt said he might not, but he’d still been hoping! It was nice that Geralt cared enough about him to stay away—not wanting to get him sick, but he was still worried for his friend. The vampire wasn’t a healer, after all.

The vampire was a _lot_ of things, but definitely _not_ a healer. Eskel didn’t know anything about Dettlaff, other than he’d gifted children toys (though not him?!) and fixed things for the adult witcher’s. On occasion they’d see him in the mess hall, usually keeping to himself, or chatting with Vesemir…

Surely Vesemir wouldn’t allow him around if he was evil? A monster? If he was allowed to live here then he couldn’t have been that bad…

That was one lesson Vesemir was striving to each them—not every contract was clear cut, not every _monster_ was the same, no matter what the books said. One had to be neutral and open minded, always, to see the truth. Then and only then could you choose the correct path to virtue.

He wasn’t entirely sure what that all meant, but Vesemir was doing his best to ingrain it into them, so it had to be important. So he tried to be open minded, that’s why he asked to go meet him…

It took a lot to ask, and to be denied…Well…There was always tomorrow. Geralt did promise…

Maybe…it wouldn’t hurt to just…sneak a peek? Check on him and make sure he was okay?

Eskel warred with himself and tossed and turned in his lower bunk—laid on his stomach—restless.

Dang it…he might as well…either way he wasn’t going to get any sleep. Might as well sate his curiosity…Harrumphing grumpily to himself and feeling like an idiot, he crawled out of bed and at least made himself halfway decent for the trek up to the northern tower.

The hallways were dark and the air crisp, and he shivered as he padded barefoot through the keep up to the tower. The stairway Geralt frequented so easily was altogether nerve wracking for Eskel. The stones were caving in and loose in spots. There was even a small gap he had to jump…

By the time he reached the top, his legs were shaking and he was trembling with adrenaline. The door to Dettlaff’s chamber lay cracked open several yards ahead, with firelight peeking through and out the bottom. Eskel crept towards it silently, heart in his throat and anxiety in his chest. He prayed to the Gods Dettlaff couldn’t hear him as he peered through the crack in the door…

The chamber—workshop?—was dark and mostly in shadow, but for the fire. He could see the bed, and Dettlaff stood near the edge of it, bent and adjusting it’s the covers over the lump that was Geralt. Eskel could hear his strained breathing—probably due to his stuffy nose, and watched as the vampire smoothed a hand over his friend’s brow and through his hair.

Geralt whined softly and turned into the touch before settling, his breath evening out with a sigh.

Eskel frowned as the vampire backed away, taking a small cup with him from the nightstand and settling in a chair in front of the hearth. He felt a deep seated pang of envy then, watching the two of them—seeing how the vampire cared for his friend in much the same manor a parent would.

None of them had parents anymore…It almost wasn’t fair! It…it was no wonder Geralt came to see him so often…

It gave Eskel a lot to think about and consider as he quietly backed away from the door. He wanted to meet Dettlaff more than ever now, but at the same time he wasn’t sure that it would be wise. He didn’t want to become dependent on someone else, not if he was to embrace the path and life of a witcher. He couldn’t afford to.

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter was much longer than I intended! Is what it is though, sometimes writing happens that way! I hope you enjoyed! Please let me know what you thought!


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